Last summer we island hopped across Greece for 5 weeks; on one day, we saw a single, small solitary cloud, for about 30 minutes, before it evaporated into the big blue sky. Today, we woke to rain, and it has been cold, grey, miserable and wet all day. There’s not too much to do in Rethmyno on a wet Tuesday in April. We went to the Museum of Contemporary Art of Crete – we (well, Becky in particular) do like an art gallery, and we had earmarked this for a visit regardless of the weather, but it was a bit underwhelming. Entry was only 3 euros pp, but the exhibits were neither inspiring or captivating.
Other than that, there was little to do but sit in cafes, drink coffee and watch the (somewhat bedraggled) world go by, before moving on to another taverna for lunch.
Much of the afternoon was spent either reading or snoozing – not a bad way to spend a day and by evening time the rain had stopped, and the forecast for tomorrow morning does suggest a return of the sun, here’s hoping …
It was in the late eighties when Belinda Carlise sang the words ” True heaven is a place on earth”
I can only surmise that she had swum in deep, clear, blue waters of the Cretan Sea, and then had a gyros for lunch, because that’s what I did today and it truly was heaven on earth.
After a leisurely, and large, breakfast at our hotel, we ambled from our room, through the streets of Rethmyno before reaching the sea front and following it along in the direction of the old fort, stopping occasionally to admire the clarity of the water, look across the bay to snow capped mountains in the distance, whilst applying sun tan cream to protect against the warm fire of its rays. I was on simultaneously on the lookout for a good place to swim, whilst also telling myself the water did look a bit chilly and perhaps it was still to soon to swim when we spied some heads bobbing in the water. Being a Sunday, many locals were out and about enjoying their day off, and we had stumbled upon their favoured bathing spot, off some rocks. It wasn’t long before I joined them in the water, although that first plunge was breathtakingly “fresh”. But a minute or two of vigorous and energetic breaststroke and I became acclimatised to the water temperature, and enjoyed bobbing about in the deep blue. The water was deep, clear and wonderful, a perfect swimming spot and, when I’d had enough, I climbed out of the water and, like an iguana, baked dry on the rocks.
And whilst sat soaking up the sun, not more than 10 metres from our spot, a beautiful white egret flew in, landed, poked around in some rock pools, before flying off again. A wonderful sight.
Perhaps inspired by the hungry bird, we, too, then set off to seek out our lunch, taking a long, slow amble around the headland at the base of the ancient fortress, enjoying the sight of flowers in bloom – one of the pleasures of heading south at this time of year is that everything is a month or two on from the UK, Spring has truly sprung, everywhere is green and flowers punctuate the landscape with their vibrant colours. We found a street grill and ordered a couple of gyros – the perfect lunchtime snack.
After lunch we walked along the seafront in the other direction, and this is where the town’s big hotels front the sea, and the sun beds and umbrellas were spouting up all along the long expanse of beach, getting ready for the season to come, and the visit of many, many tourists making Crete their summer holiday destination.
Today, Rethymno delivered, a day of heaven on earth. Pretty streets, delicious food and a swimming spot to rival any other. That ancient Geek medicine is working its magic and all my woes and cares, aches and pains are being washed away in the deep blue sea and bleached dry in the warm Mediterranean sunshine. I’ve always believed in Belinda, true heaven is a place on earth, and today I glimpsed it.
Winter is a tough season – the days are short, the nights are dark and long, and the thermometer rarely rises above single digits. But with Spring (just about) upon us, bluer skies and warmer weather of southern Europe beckon, and we were up well before the larks to head to the airport for our first adventure of 2025, a week in Crete.
We soared over the magnificent snowy alps before landing, some four hours later, at Heraklion airport on Greece’s largest island of Crete.
We hopped on a local bus (euro 1.20 each) to take us the 10 minutes from the airport to Heraklion town, from where we were to catch another bus/coach to Rethymno – home for the next 5 days. Now, I must confess, on first impression of Crete, via Heraklion, we weren’t blown away by the beauty, charm and character of a typical Greek island, but I suspect that was just because we saw the utilitarian, practical parts of the island. We return for a few days to Heraklion at the end of our trip, so will report back then.
Having whizzed through the airport faster than expected, at the bus station we did ask if we could catch an earlier bus than the one we had booked, but unfortunately it was full, so we had an hour or so to wait until our bus. Hungry, and a little tired (we’d been up since 2.30 am) we decided to grab something to eat at the bus station. Now, in the UK, bus station food would be over priced and underwhelming. Not here in Greece. We went to the station cafe, the menu was all in Greek – actually a good sign that there was no English translation – with a combination of pointing and Google translate, we came away with two plates: roasted mixed vegatables and potatoes for six euros, and 3 big, delicious meatballs and rice for seven euros. Both meals were generous in size, “home cooked” and delicious. We’ve even earmarked the possibility of returning to the bus station cafe for a meal when we return to Heraklion – something you’d never dream of doing back home.
We took the bus (1 hr 30 mins, 9 euros each) to Rethmyno – I’d love to be able to tell you of the magnificent mountain scenery swooping down to the blue sea, but I soon feel asleep! We arrived in Rethmyno and found our hotel – a gem, I’m sure I’ll write more of that later – and set off into the evening sun. We wandered the streets, enjoyed a beer looking out over the harbour, before enjoying a fantastic Greek meal, albeit indoors as the evening temperature makes sitting outside a little chilly.
We both (and me, in particular) need some time to relax and recharge, and a week in Greece in early April is just what Dr Hap-pea-travels prescribed.
We woke today to blue skies, but our few days on the island has taught us that the weather can be fickle, and the weather “now” can be different from the weather an hour later. But today the sun stayed out all day and we enjoyed a warm day, stripping to T-shirts when sat in the sun.
After a leisurely start, and more of “God’s bread” for breakfast, we caught the bus up to the Botanical gardens (different from Monte Palace we visited on Tuesday) – 10 minutes and 1.95 euros each on a yellow bus (numbers 29, 30, 31 & 31A all take you there) and then enjoyed a pleasant couple of hours enjoying the grounds, the view, and a drink in the sunshine in the cafe.
We headed back down the hill (again by bus, after yesterday’s hike, we were in no rush for any more downhill walks), had lunch and headed to the waterfront. The temperature was probably in the low twenties, the sun strong and warm and seeing one or two others in the sea, I knew I had to take a dip too. The water was not too cold – I’d say it was warmer than the med off Nerja in October? – and it was a definite delight to take a dip in December. The beach was nothing special – big grey/black pebbles and rocks that were a little difficult to walk on – but it shelved swiftly and one was soon in deepish water.
After warming on the rocks for a while after my dip, we headed further up the beach to “yellow building” that we had seen in many pictures of Funchal. It was an early fort built to defend the port and it made an interesting diversion for twenty minutes to explore it.
Then home for a quick recharge, before back out after dark to eat and a last look at the Christamas lights and market. The Christmas market – busy all week – was heaving, it being Friday night the locals were out in force and we found ourselves watching a local band playing songs – most of which we didn’t know – and having a wonderful, festive fun time in Funchal.
Today we headed into the hills mountains, booking a trip to Pico de Aieiro and beyond. The day had dawned with blue skies over Funchal and we were confident of a good day’s hiking as our transport collected us shortly befor 9am to take us to Pico de Aieiro , 1,800m above sea -level (that’s 300m higher than Ben Nevis) but as the mini-bus climbed ever higher, the cloud began to envelope us, and a light rain began to fall. As we de-bussed and donned our snoods, gloves and rain jackets (at 5 degress, it was cold as well as damp) Becky was not a happy Hector, wondering why we were choosing to walk in the rain.
The original plan was to hike along PR1 from Pico de Aieiro to Pico Ruivo but due to forest fires earlier in the year, much of that route is closed. However, you could do the first 1.2km as an “out and back” route, taking in the iconic “Stairway to heaven” – photos of which are awash online, of towering peaks knifing through the cloud base and reaching into an azure blue sky, or shots of green clad cliff-sides plunging deep into the valley below. But I must have lived the life of a sinner. As I climbed the stairway to heaven, no brilliant light and awe-inspiring majestic views for me, only swirling grey clouds obscuring all that lay in front, above, below or behind, heaven was not welcoming me today! We turned round, and headed back from whence we came, and as we did so the clouds began to part, the sun began to shine in all its splendour; those that had taken the path later than me must have led more righteous lives as heaven revealed itself to them.
With most of PR1 closed, our guide has arranged for us to follow PR3 down from the hill, a 7km hike across varied terrain and views. The weather continued to change throughout the day, at times we needed to strip off our layers and walk bathed in sunshine, at other times the puffa jackets were worn.
From this point, most of the hike was downhill, but that doesn’t mean it was easy – both underfoot and on the knees. For the final two or three kms, the trail tracked alongside a river canyon, the sound of rushing water providing a dramatic soundtrack to our descent and the pools, swirls and waterfalls added (even more) visual interest. At then end of the trail, five hours after he had dropped us off, our guide picked us up in the minibus for the thirty minute transit back to Funchal. It was a fun, but tough, day, a proper hike that demanded more than typical tourist attire or fitness, and it felt an accomplishment to have achieved what we did.
Back in town, we went straight to a local cafe to order some coffee and cakes. Portuguese/Madieran pastries are as good as any I have had elsewhere. The only decisions we had to make was what cakes to choose, and whether to eat inside or outside. On both counts we made the right decision.
Shortly after tucking in to these tasty treats, the heavens opened. A good job we had chosen to eat indoors. We ordered another coffee and watched the world outside try and shelter the best they could from a sudden sub-tropical downpour. A dramatic end to a dramatic day!
Today we enjoyed a “chilled” day out at the seaside. We took the bus to the nearby fishing village of Camara de Lobos, a few miles west of Funchal. We took the Number 1 yellow bus from Funchal, riding it for about 20 minutes, ’till the end of its journey, hopped off and then walked ten minutes along the coast road in to the town. Madeira/Funchal is served well by public transport, but it can be a little confusing and not helped by not having a bus station, just lots and lots of bus stops. The yellow busses are the urban busses that serve Funchal and its suburbs, then there are white busses that go further afield. One of the difficulties I have found is determining which of the many bus stops any particular bus goes from.
Anyway, we arrived at our destination by bus and foot and enjoyed a pleasant few hours ambling its streets, staring out to sea, taking in some street art, and enjoying a pleasant harbour-side lunch.
The boats were colouful and pretty, the sea almost inviting. I hadn’t taken my trunks, but gazing down into the deep clear grey blue water I could hear it calling me. Other than a few canoeists splashing in the shallows at the end of their trip, no one was swimming – although the sun did shine for some of today and the air temperature was pleasant, it probably isn’t swimming season, so I don’t think I missed out.
The town is name, Lobos, is Portuguese for wolves as when it was first spotted from the sea, its founder thought he could see wolves. He was mistaken, they were sea-lions not wolves and sadly, today the only sea lion you will see is this magnificent mural made from junk.
And it wasn’t the only street art we saw. In keeping with Funchal many doors and and walls are decorated with art like the one above, or the bird below, one of three made up from a collage of bits of drink can.
But, I think, my favourite was a series of three doors filled in with old plastic containers – with extra holes for eyes – that looked like faces. To me, they resembled friendly cybermen.
And even the simple walls, with a plant placed in front, added to the ambience of this pretty little town. It was a day to do little, but take in the sights, the sound of the sea, and the warmth of the winter sun on skin.
Before we headed out for day, we found another delicacy, enjoying “God’s bread” for breakfast – it was like a giant coconut macaroon. Delicious!
Sleighs, cable cars and flamingos (plus a mugging in broad daylight)
This morning we took the cable car from the sea front to up the hill (mountain) that is the backdrop to Funchal to Monte. The ride was calm and scenic, taking about ten minutes to ascend the 550 metres to the top (cost: 12.50 euros each, one way, or 18 euros each for a return. We bought one way tickets – for why, read on …)
Arriving at the top, we had a coffee in the sun overlooking Funchal and the sea beneath us, before heading into Monte Palace and its gardens (15 euros each) We were originally going to take another cable car (9 euro each return) and then go into the Botanical gardens (10 euros each) but changed our minds, and I’m glad we did. The 70,000 square metre tropical gardens were lush and well looked after, featuring ferns, azaleas, orchids, banana trees (with bananas dangling from the branches – I eat a banana everyday, but have never seen them growing before), with glimpses of Funchal town below through the foliage.
But there was more to it than trees and plants. Pink flamingos mesmerised me as they stood on one leg, occasionally stretching the other behind them as if in some avian yoga class.
Sculptures and artwork were dotted throughout, and there was a more formal contemporary art exhibition housed in a building. My favourite piece was a 4 metre tall piece of art made from red plastic cutlery. But there were plenty of other pieces to inspire thought and comment.
We lost ourselves – metaphorically, not literally – in the Monte Palace gardens and it brought to mind one of my favourite poems:
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare
Leisure – by William Henry Davies
and I did let time and space wash over me as I stood (and sometimes sat) and stared.
And, as the saying famously says, what goes up, must come down and we too, had to descend back into town. We could have taken the cable car back down the hill but this being Christmas (v tenuous link!) and this being Madeira we took a sleigh ride back down. I believe in “the olden days” these sleighs were used to transport goods and produce down into the port, nowadays they take tourists for a whizz down the slope. It was fun, the ride was about 10 minutes and although Becky thought at one point we’d end up in the gutter, and we did pass perilously close to some parked cars, it never felt unsafe.
At the end of the ride, we still had a way to go to get back into town – persistent taxi drivers badgered you to take a cab for 20 euros, but we elected to walk (it was all downhill) in the increasingly warm sunshine.
So what about the mugging? This morning, on our way to the cable car station, we stumbled across an indoor market, Mercardo dos Lavradores
Inside the fruit and veg was colourfully displayed, tempting for the tourist and local alike. Becky made the fatal mistake of engaging in conversation with a vendor of dried fruit. Resisting their offer of a sample of dried mango, she weakened when offered a macadamia nut to try. Less the two minutes later, we were buying two bags of nuts for the princely sum of 31 euros! I couldn’t help but feel we had been robbed, and in broad daylight, too. (And to add insult to injury – the nuts are so expensive, I’m not allowed to eat them! (I’ve been told I can have two a day when we get home!))
But its been such an enjoyable day, even nut-gate can be forgiven, and remembered as an amusing anecdote.
It was up early for us today to catch a 7am flight from Bristol to Madeira, for six nights in its capital – Funchal. We took off in the dark, but soon witnessed the sunrise over the cloud base, a colourful start to a colourful week. Before we travelled, everyone commented on how “sporty” it was flying into Madeira airport, and before we took off our captain warned that it was a bit breezy on the Atlantic outcrop, but just within limits for landing so the engines roared into life and we climbed high into the night sky. It was cloudy as we approached our destination, but we broke through the bottom of the cloud to see a lush, green, verdant island, the captain executed a few deft turns and soon greased the runway with a smooth landing – no dramas and our latest adventure could begin.
The weather was warm, but breezy – a pleasant change from cold, grey England but not the azure blue skies we’d hoped for, and definitely a day for the fleece and not shorts. We set off to explore and after a short walk along the sea front we found ourselves at the base of the cable car, and the start of the old town, which we ambled through enjoying the eclectic mix of painted doors.
I was already beginning to fall in love with Madeira – a very different feel from its Mediterranean cousins. Lush and green, with a mountains rising steeply from the fringes of its capital, Funchal, with houses spilling down the hillside to the sea. And then I discovered Pasteis de Nata – a custard tart, but only better – caramelised on the top and sprinkled with cinnamon, all in a crispy, flaky pastry, delicious.
Once darkness fell, we found somewhere to eat – and being Portugal and not Spain, finding somewhere to eat at 7pm was not a problem – and the marvelled in the Christmas lights that festooned every street, tree and building. Photos do not do them justice, they were brilliant and bright, and everywhere.
And on a jetty was a tunnel of white lights, with fluffy clouds and stars dangling from the ceiling, blowing in the wind. The tunnel was like a storm, with the rising sun at the end – a storm will always pass. It was like being in a cartoon, it was fantastic. We’ve only been here half a day so far, but already Funchal, and Madeira, make the grade – what a great place to spend a few December days.
As we took off from Malaga airport and looked down at the coastline, it was clear to see how the floods had turned the sea brown with mud an debris washed of the land. And it was also becoming clear how devastating the flooding had been in the Valencia region on the East coast of Spain. As I write (Thursday evening – two days on) the death toll is 158, and may still go up. This picture, sourced from Instagram, conveys the power and devastation of the torrents of water that flowed through Spain on Tuesday:
and there are countless images and videos like that. As I said in my earlier post, we never felt unsafe, but we were just lucky and in a region that, whilst badly affected, was nowhere near as badly hit as the Valencia region. Having seen the water racing through gullys, across fields, alongside (and, sometimes, across) roads, we witnessed the untamable power of these flash floods. My heart and thoughts are with the people of Spain at this time. For once, I am grateful to be back in England, but I look forward to one day returning to Spain, we still have so much to see and do there.
It began last night, when we were in bed in Ronda, and then thunder started to rumble. The thunder claps were immense, loud and long, and after the roar you could hear the heavy rain falling outside. We had a bus to catch at 10 am, to take us to Malaga, and we arrived at the bus station cold, wet and bedraggled. But the bus was warm and on time,and we set off in pouring rain, happy to be leaving Ronda, although we both had loved the city.
The rain continued to pour, and we saw gullys flowing with muddy water alongside the road. We were in the middle of a major weather system.
The further we went, the bigger those streams became, until they were torrents of muddy water, sweeping through the fields, and occasionally spilling onto the road.
And then we came to a halt, at the back of a long line of traffic. We weren’t moving forward, nothing was coming the other way. It all seemed a bit ominous. And the rain continued to fall. A police car passed us, travelling on the (empty) wrong side of the road, and 5 minutes later, a stream of vehicles passed us travelling in the other direction. Then we edged forward, and stopped. Then started, and stopped. Eventually we reached the front of the queue and the reason for our delay became apparent …
An hour later than expected, we rolled into Malaga bus station, relieved to be at our destination. At no time did we feel in danger, and it was a bit of an adventure, but it was an “edge of your seat” journey, rather than the planned relaxing passage through the mountainous countryside, marvelling at the scenery.
And still it rained – no longer heavy rain, but rain non-the-less, as we made our way to the train station, and then onto Benalmadena.
We dropped our bags in our hotel for the night and, as the rain had finally stopped – or so we thought – we headed out to have a quick look round in case the rain returned, as forecast.
We’d not gone one hundred metres when the rain drops began to fall. With umbrellas up, we pressed on but if truth be told, a little dis-spirited, we’d have both happily headed back to the UK at this point.
We reached the sea front and sky began to brighten
And before long we were sat having a coffee in the sunshine, and shedding the multitude of layers we’d been wearing since arriving in chilly Ronda two days ago.
We wandered up the sea front – it was clear Benalmadena had also taken a hammering in the recent rains – enjoying the change in temperature, light and sense of well-being. Reaching the habour, we turned and re-traced our steps, all the time growing in appreciation of this seaside town, glad we hadn’t already gone home, and glad that our final memories of our Andalusian adventure would be made warmed by the sun and against the background of blue sky.
We sat outside for our last supper, as day became night, becoming bewitched by beautiful Benalmadena.
